Micul Meu Vena : My Little Vein

By: Methodical Madness

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Hellsing Series, only parts of the plot and the original characters.

Prologue- Strawberry Gashes

"Strawberry gashes all over, all over..."

That's all I heard. It was a song, sung to me for as long as I could remember.

Always by the same person, too.

Through all of this mist and fog, I only caught glimpses of her. Long, blonde hair, emerald green eyes. So, so pretty...

Her voice was sweet, like chocolate laced with remorse and pain.

"Watch me fault her..."

She was the only one I saw, whenever I was able.

I'd try and speak with her, but she'd only look at me with those forest green eyes, and continue singing.

Singing as she pierced my flesh with needles and knives, looking as if she were making me a quilt.

Singing as she filled my veins with countless substances, as she dug the scalpel just a little bit deeper.

"Called her over

and ask her if she was improving.

She said, 'Feels fine,

It's wonderful, wonderful here.'"

I don't understand any of this.

I have one-sided conversations with her, unable to hear my own voice through her pure, white tones. Sometimes I'd sing with her, though I'm sure my voice was nothing compared to hers.

She would smile, still singing, and make sure the next cut was quick. By now, I didn't even know the meaning of silence.

But, as time went on, with my daily monologue and her lovely song, the regret in her voice grew more pronounced, the pain more intense.

"The poison that runs it's course through her..."

In my moments of clarity, I'd send love through my eyes, knowing she'd see it. By all of those emotions in her, I knew that she didn't intend my pain, or, perhaps, didn't know the meaning of it. Of how it cuts my concentration, drove me to say things that had no meaning whatsoever.

She couldn't, could she?

How could she not love me, with such tortured words sung, with such exquisite pain she gave to me?

Only someone who loved me this much would hurt me this much, correct? Was that not how it was, before I was brought here, when I was whole?

Only one who loved would exchange the pain of my body for her deeper, darker pain. It was a perfect trade, and I made sure to tell her that. That I loved her anyway. Loved her, for the only reason of that I had no one else to love. No other way to love.

I remember this event clearly. Very clearly.

She had set her butchering knife down, and it was as if I had felt the small clatter of it on the tray throughout my body. Her singing was steady. She had stared at me for what seemed to be a long time. Tears brimmed over those green eyes, revealing startling yellow. But there was only one thing registering: The song had stopped.

I had, indeed, heard silence for the first time in what had seemed to be forever.

Silence filled my limbs, filled my mind. I realized that, even though I couldn't open my eyes, I could see. My lips never moved, but I have spoken.

The silence was my adrenaline, it allowed me to move my remains. To sit up. I had held her to my mangled, bleeding body.

With every move I made, my strength increased. But it also made me aware of the stinging, aching, sharp, fiery pains that wracked my tatters of flesh, the ruins of my once-lovely body. Well, that's what they told me, anyway. That I was beautiful, that I was strong. Those liars... If I was so grand, why did they ruin me? Violate me in every sense of the word?

Those were the words I whispered to her, whispered without sound, but also without any other forms of comfort.

"She is, after all, one of them."

That voice stopped me in my tracks. It was molten darkness, a deep, midnight voice that held promises of release. And, most of all, it was in my mind.

One thought made me freeze. What if I was going insane?

The voice laughed darkly, making me shiver.

"Insanity is not your problem, though your thoughts pool around you in a most spectacular way. No, your mind has lost it's stability long ago. You are being tortured, and you love your captor for it. Tell me, do you know how ridiculous that is, and, more importantly, where you are?"

The woman in my arms looked up at me, questioning. She must have noticed my stillness. She gave me a kiss on my lips, then stood. Then, to my horror, she resumed singing, and cutting, reopening my wounds. They had- somehow- started sealing up in the pause of her gift of pain.

The mist started consuming me, and I fought to reply to my amused visitor. "I... It's a lab, I think... I can't tell you anything more than that..."

I was very worried, for I did not know if my female lover-foe could hear me.

He replied, reaching out farther to contact me.

"She can't hear what you don't want her to. I'm going to lose communication soon. Answer me now: Do you want to live?"

Suddenly, I knew.

I knew I was merely a pet for her use, a gift from her superiors. That her psychologically disturbed mind wanted me to be a creation of hers, every single cell of my being made by her, existing only by her will. My lips opened, and I howled. Why? She was the only one.

The only one.

My howl ended in a wail.

The bane of my existence sang louder, confused.

"A candle is lit, I see through her

Blow it out, and save all her ashes for me."

My mouth closed.

"...Yes, of course..."

His smirk was heard in his voice. I could almost imagine the small curve of lips spreading wide in darkness.

"Yes, imagine what I might look like. It will occupy you until I come and get you. And then you'll get to see for yourself. But remember: This is your choice, and you can't change your mind. This is the most permanent-..." His voice arced and broke, before he continued on another thought. "I don't normally run off and rescue random people, though you're merely a stranger, and not by random choice at all. And..." He paused, then growled, fading away."If you're worthy of my help, then do not think lowly of yourself."

My mysterious soon-to-be-savior's soulful voice disappeared, as well as his dark presence.

I waited, acting normal, talking to my captor, sitting in my mist.

I tried as hard as I could to remove the hope from my voice, and my growing hatred for her. Whomever came up with the old adage that there's a thin line between love and hate was only half-right. All it takes is a little stumble and a trip, and you're right back over that line...

I held onto the sound of his voice, and the secrets hidden in those dark inflections.

But, I guess it wasn't enough, for something wasn't right.

Two days later, the gashing stopped.

"Pale white skin with strawberry gashes all over, all over..."

Please review, all criticism is appreciated!

Eternally yours,

Methodical Madness